


Fall

by SuperRedRobin (SweetFanfics)



Series: Bellydancer AU [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belly Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/SuperRedRobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim panics when he feels some of the fabric slipping. Breaking form, one hand quickly grabs at the falling chiffon. It’s a bit of a scramble but he manages to grab most of the fabric before it tumbles down on the ground in a loose pile. But it leaves him in the predicament of how he’s going to make his way back without showing most of his butt to the guest…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall

Behind the heavy curtains, Tim couldn’t stop fussing with his garb. The fabric on his arms felt restrictive and tight. But the worst part was this new skirt that Talia had gotten made for him. Not only was there too much of it but it was also too heavy. Tim was used to moving in a finer fabric, more sheer and light which allowed him better movement.  
  


While the fall was quite graceful, this cloth was simply too heavy. The embroidery on the bottom hem served to drag the skirt down lower, going from provocative to dangerous. Not to mention that it was a loose fit on his hips. Frowning, he tucks some of the material into the waist, hoping that it would look more like a design than a quick attempt to make sure that the skirt stayed on tight to his hips.  
  


Two sharp claps sudden ring in the air. Tim immediately straightens his skirts and slips out from behind his hiding place. He can’t hear anything beyond the rustle of his clothes and the clink of gold around his neck. Standing in his position, he steals a quick look up.  
  


It’s the same boy who had accompanied Clark Kent only last week. Only this time, he is alone. The tall boy with blue eyes (wide behind black frames) sits atop a rich blue cushion. The naked anticipation and eagerness in the boy makes Tim’s heart race and he tells himself that he’ll perform his best.  
  


 _‘I am water.’_  he tells himself, arms rising over his head at the first strains of music. He focuses on the fall and flutter of the cloth, moving and twisting along with it. Every movement is fluid and smooth, not one motion without meaning. Arms, legs, hips moving in an enticing harmony that he has been learning for years now.  
  


 _‘I am air.’_  Hips swivel, the fabric twisting up just enough to reveal a toned leg and a thick gold band on the ankle. Just as quick, the fabric swivels and curls around his legs before flaring around him again. It spreads out around him, a puddle of layer upon lay of red chiffon. Tim imagines that from an aerial view, he looks more like a flower than the flames he tries to move like.  
  


 _‘I am fire.’_  Swaying back and forth, front and back, he imagines himself as a large bonfire. A campfire keeping away predators. A wildfire burning everything in its path. Golden, yellow orange - those are his colors. They mimic the heart burning inside of him, thrumming through his veins with every motion.  
  


Heated colors to contrast the coolness of his eyes. Eyes that dart up to check his guests reaction. And flare in pleasure when they see an answering heat in his eyes. Coyly, he lowers his gaze, following his hands as they move up. Steadying himself on one foot, he begins to rise. Fabric brushing against his naked legs, feeling more decadent than teasing because of its weight.  
  


Tim panics when he feels some of the fabric slipping. Breaking form, one hand quickly grabs at the falling chiffon. It’s a bit of a scramble but he manages to grab most of the fabric before it tumbles down on the ground in a loose pile. But it leaves him in the predicament of how he’s going to make his way back without showing most of his butt to the guest…  
  


While he’s somewhere between panicking and freaking out internally, the dark haired man stands up. A quick stab of fear goes through him. Tim is ready to hear a reproach, a reprimand, even a come on. He stands frozen, hiding his dignity behind the scrunched up cloth, watching the man walk up to him.  
  


He can’t help but flinch when his hands come up but they drop down slightly when they begin to unbutton his flannel shirt. Puzzled, Tim can only stand and watch, and wonder if this is a new kind of harassment method or not. Dick and Jason are already coming up behind him, ready to throw the man out when he holds the shirt out towards Tim.  
  


Eyes dart down at the shirt, back up in confusion. There’s a flush on the man’s face that grows darker when he mumbles, “You can use this to cover up.”  
  


Hesitantly, Tim reaches out to accept the shirt. “Cover up?” he asks.  
  


Large hands mime tying a knot around the waist, “It’s better than nothing…” He notices Dick and Jason coming over and quickly takes several steps back, returning to his seat. Tim continues to stare, dipping his head slightly in thanks. He gets a small nod in return and an eyeful of a broad back before his brothers are dragging him back behind the curtains.  
  


His brothers are chattering like a pair of angry robins, asking what happened, what went wrong, the fabric was all wrong, they had  _told_  Talia not to order heavy embroidery on the hems etc etc. As for himself, Tim is focused on the shirt still in his hands.  
  


He hopes that the man will return soon. And maybe then, he can ask for a name.  
  


And give his in return.


End file.
